'Long': Sehri Tales selections, Day 9
I.
Stumbling upon the piece of broken chalk makes my eyes well up with tears. No, it isn't because of the puffs of dust as I turn it in my fingers, coating them in an ash-like film.
My mind rapidly, forcibly flickers through memories--absolutely lovely memories, mind you. It's just rather inconvenient because I was about to hand that calcified stub to my wife. She had a sudden desire to mend that puckered hole in her jumper. First step would be to mark out a shape for her patchwork. Sewing would have to wait.
For all latest news, follow The Daily Star's Google News channel. Hopscotch on a rare dry day in a South London school becomes a hotly contested slash on tarry Dhanmondi roads: no more no balls! Patterns scrawled on a searing rooftop--castles, villages, forests--give narrative structure for tall tales. Cricket again but this time lop-sided stumps drawn on a boundary wall, marks fading as the match wears on; arguments break out over the last wicket taken.
Now the chalk (in my mind) is of many pastel colours. A frustrated art teacher shows us the national flower yet again: "Sir, Shamim (b. ?). Shapla (redux), 1997. Chalk on green board."Hidden scribbles made long ago behind my grandmother's lakeside house, through the garage, up the tiny staircase into the odd space. My cousin and I thought it was such a clever little secret place; we were eight. The house that will no longer be there when I visit next time.
I hand the chalk over.
by Azfarul Islam
II.
"Let's watch Lord of the rings."
"Which one?"
Wrong answer.
"Let's watch Lord of the rings."
"Okay. But the extended versions are too long."
Wrong answer.
"Let's watch Lord of the rings."
"I don't like these fictional movies. Let's watch a documentary."
Not even an answer that is acceptable.
***
"Hey I'll be busy tonight."
"What's the plan?"
"I'm giving Lord of the rings a marathon run."
"OG or the full set?"
"Full set."
"Wait! Do you have the extra cut version? I have them in HD."
"Really?"
"Hey! You get the pop corn and set the theater. I'll bring chicken fry. It's going to be a looooong night, babe."
My inner child starts to hope again.
by Shanim Tasnim
III.
"What category are you looking in?"
Samara stood clueless among all the labels glaring at her from the screen. Sarcasm Sensei, Ghostbuster, Serial Swiper, Romantic Rookie–the variety at this place was crazy. The AI assistant patiently waited for her to make a choice.
"Sorry, I was thinking something very basic. Maybe a guy who loves coffee and conversations?"
"Got it. You need a Chat Connoisseur!"
The screen changed to a window of hundreds of happy prospects.
"What is that index?"
"Ma'am this is our in-house 'red flag radar' and we scored these profiles based on several metrics. First, we check their conversation history to detect any excessive mentions of ex-partners. If their exes come up more often than the weather, it is a red flag. We also analyze their response times to messages. If they disappear for days without explanation, this radar goes off! Our technology also analyzes their stories for inconsistencies and embellishments. If their tales seem more far-fetched than a fantasy novel, it is a definite red flag. Finally, we measure their comfort with discussing future plans. If they break out in a cold sweat at the mere mention of long-term commitment, it's high alert."
Samara stands awestruck by all the information she has just received.
"Would you like to experience an AR date with Sharan? He is rated surprisingly low"
She nods, not sure what she was signing up for.
"Thanks, this is a long process, but we hope you find your love match with us."
by Maisha Islam
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